Date: Tue, 25 Jul 2017 11:01:49 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: The Heathens 26

Please see original story
(www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/historical/the-heathens/) for warnings and
copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex
between young-adult and adult men. Go away if any of that is against your
local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but
flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty
**TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.

*****

Stop the spitting and snipping or I will... Oh ho! That was your plan? To
earn the punishment you want? And what if I just turn over and oh, oh,
oh. That is so very not fair, my p-p-p-p-p-pupp-pp-pppy...

~~ I think there was more to the story that night, but I can't seem to
recall the words...

*****

The Heathens 26: Conclusions, Aletheia

By Bear Pup

*****

I woke far earlier than normal, snuggled in the powerful arms of my master
but taking little comfort from it. The fading dream
was... annoying. Strasta had made an appearance and asked me for a number
of words in my own language. They included 'prude' and 'mean' and 'greedy'
and 'spoilsport' and 'whiny' and 'selfish' and 'killjoy'. The final straw
and the one what woke me was 'curmudgeon'. It really pissed me off that
hating a fellow Christian was a mortal sin!

But he was right, that rat bastard. When I got down to the brutally-honest
part of my soul, I knew it wasn't cheating on Harcos that upset me; it was
the idea that Harcos might want lovers other than me. My visceral rage at
the boys had really been fear, and not *for* Harcos but of somehow losing
him. As if I were the master and he the servant.

The man I'd sworn in my heart and soul to serve and obey in all but the
most horrific things had told me it would make him happy to watch me 'play
the hound', and even praised both Marcus and Strasta for doing exactly
that; it delighted him. And I, instead, played the child. A man of his
might needed more than a single lover and he needed distractions as well,
and he deserved them. With those he chose or those I seduced, he would
delight in watching me play just as he had delighted in the dalliances of
Marcus and Strasta. Who was I to deny him that pleasure? How selfish and
petty could I be?

These were not the sudden, blinding realisations I'd had in the past. They
were difficult, slow and painful, leaving me deeply disappointed in
myself. Harcos finally stirred and I drank his night-piss as he sighed
appreciatively. He grunted in surprise when I pulled off after consuming
the last drop instead of sucking him to climax. "Harcos, my Aldus, I am so
very sorry."

"For what, Kucuk. Why? What have you done?" He yawned hugely.

"I have been like a spoiled child, wanting to consume you for myself and
jealous to boot. I understand now what you said, that playing the hound
with others does not... doesn't m-m-m-mean that our bond is weakened. I
will play the hound with others because it will please you. If... *when*
you wish to bring another to your bed, I will make him as happy as I make
you. I will make you proud of me, and take joy in your enjoyment of it. I
swear it."

Harcos rubbed sleep out of his eyes and tried to focus. "You speak in
nonsense words, Kucuk. When did I say that I wanted others in my bed?"

Now it was my time to be confused. "But you encourage me to flirt so you
can enjoy my play, and I resisted it, was selfish of it. If it brings you
joy to see me dally with the others, I will do it gladly. And you felt that
I would object to sharing you, sharing your strength and sex and... other
things. I am ready, my Aldus, to make you happy in this as in everything
else. I am here to please you in... all... things..." My voice trailed off
as storm clouds overtook my master's face.

"We will speak of this later." His voice was cold as stone. "Dress and
prepare to break our fast, K--." He did not even finish my name; he simply
sighed deeply and threw on a tunica and left. Stunned, I dressed for the
road and ran out. Harcos was nowhere to be seen. I set about the fire (I
was the first of the boys up today and it was just lightening in the east)
and started the water to heat as Harcos came back and went immediately into
the tent. I had not yet made it inside when Harcos, voice weary and sad,
said, "Not this morning. I have much to think of. Please attend to the
breaking of fast, young one." He never turned to me.

'Young one'. Not 'Kucuk' or 'Dasqas' or even 'my
something-or-other'. 'Young one'. I shook as I pulled together the grains
for the meal. 'Young one'. I relieved myself as the sky lightened. 'Young
one'. I flicked away inquiries by the other boys. 'Young one'. I let the
tears flow silently and made sure they were dry long before Harcos could
see them. 'Young one'.

The day passed in a blur of grey dust. We fell in alongside the face of a
series of ridges to our West that blocked the rain, so the soil was loose,
barren, empty. It fitted my mood. 'Young one.' What had I done? I replayed
everything in my mind over and over. The cart I pulled was forgotten
entirely, the straps across my chest might well have been ribbons; all the
pressure and pain was on the inside now.

We lunched in the shade of a broken wall with two stunted trees, perhaps
the shattered shrine of a local god or a stable for livestock, now a
tumbled ruin. Harcos spent the time in muttered conversation with Pameten,
then with his countryman, Sziklak. He never looked toward me at all, but
the others did, glancing on occasion as Harcos spoke. They did not seem
upset or angry, simply sad and disappointed.

As dusk approached, we came alongside a fairly-large compound with perhaps
a half-dozen dwellings and a large number of outbuildings. A miniature
horde of children, laughing and chattering, descended upon us. The warriors
were tense and fierce until it was clear that kids were not only friendly,
but openly solicitous. Their trade language seemed stilted and strange, but
I understood it and Furge seemed comfortable with the sounds.

It quickly became clear that the extended family that held this place
delighted in Roman travellers (and their money) and they offered soft beds,
hearty food and a safe night in exchange for a shockingly-modest amount of
coin. Each warrior was shown to a private hovel of wattle-and-daub
construction, well-chinked against the wind and quite comfortable. Each had
a raised-platform bed with an actual straw-tick mattress, a true luxury in
the wilderness, as well as a large pitcher of fresh water and a thick
pottery bowl.

The meal was a thick mutton stew with a coarse bread of buckwheat and
barley and was actually quite good and filling. The oldest of the kids as
well as the youngest of the wives (it was clearly a Christian home with
plenty of each) made it clear that they could also be 'persuaded' to join a
warrior for the night. Bu, the only one unaccompanied, was both the primary
target and the only one that was really interested. He finally settled on a
pair of girls, each of marriageable age but young. He retired first with
the giggling pair and clearly had a very pleasant night.

The family even had a Roman-style latrine with seats, a nice touch, and
Harcos and I retired while most of the others stayed for music and other
petty entertainments. I followed him closely, desperate to make up for
whatever offense I had given. I helped him carry the strongbox and his roll
of weapons inside, trusting the rest to the promises of the family (and the
sure knowledge of retribution if anything was disturbed).

Harcos finally heaved a massive sigh and pointed to the foot of the
bed. "Get undressed. Sit." He stripped his own clothing as I did as I was
instructed. He sat on the far end of the bed and simply frowned at me. I
was on the edge of babbling when he finally broke his silence. "You do not
understand how or why you hurt me so much this morning, do you?"

I gasped and rocked back. "No, please, no! I would never! I love you,
Harcos, you are my saviour, my Aldus! What have I done?"

He sighed again, a depth of sadness there that ripped at me. "I have opened
myself to you, young one. I promised to treat you as a son and a valued
companion, not a slave or servant." His voice was level, implacable,
irresistible. "And yet you imply that I only care about my own sexual
pleasure, my own selfish needs. I tell you that you are free to explore
your sex and you throw it back at me, saying that you will try if it
pleases ME to watch you cavort with others. I tell you of other companions,
Marcus and Strasta and more, who it pleased me to make happy and you twist
it to where I only do so for my own satisfaction." I started to speak and
he silenced me with a sad, almost-forlorn look.

"And I cannot even rebut it. For to say that it displeases me, disappoints
me, hurts me is simply to state *in reverse* that which I reject, that it's
about me and not you. I have thought through the day and spoke with those
closest to me. The family here is of your faith, is happy and prosperous,
and has youth of both sexes with whom you can find happiness." I began to
shake and could feel my face go white, my hands and feet go ice-cold. "I
will leave them a dowry to ease your acceptance, and leave you, young one,
with enough that you can travel elsewhere if you wish."

I sat, dumbfounded, bereft, destroyed. "You may, if you wish, sleep here
with me this night or wherever pleases you." He stared at my unmoving and
unspeaking form for a long, long time. "Have you nothing to say, young one,
nothing after our time together?"

I rose to shaking legs, my body trembling uncontrollably, and stumbled to
the weapons roll, pulling out the longer of the swords Harcos normally
wields. "I have but one request, my Aldus. In lieu of dowry or gift, leave
just this sword."

He frowned, nonplussed. "If you so wish. May it serve you well. But why?"

"You now are the one who does not understand. Leave it lodged in this body,
my Aldus. For you have taken my reason for life over the last half-hour. I
have no need of this body any longer. I will not live with these people,
with any people. I will serve you and only you until the end of my
days. And you have decided that service is at an end, and thus so are my
days ended." I let the sword thump to the mattress in front of his knees. I
knelt beside the bed, pulling my hair to the side to leave my beck bare.

"If you prefer some other weapon, that does not displease me. I chose this
one solely because I saw you use it to grant the mercy of eternal peace to
the brigand on the road, and wish no more than that." I meant it with all
my soul. I welcomed death. Harcos was right. I had so misunderstood him,
his kindness, even his love that I did not deserve to serve him, and thus
had no reason to continue.

I thought, briefly, whether this would be deemed suicide by the Lord, but
rejected that. It wasn't by my own hand, not really.  It was no different
than lying down at the end of a full life when you are no longer needed and
allowing death to take you. My purpose, my life, had a single meaning: to
serve Harcos. With that tasks at an end, the One True God could not expect
that I would continue to simply exist for no reason.

I listened to Harcos shift and move. I expected to cringe and cry and feel
true fear, but all I felt was rightness as I heard him heft the sword above
me. I sighed and whispered in Greek, the language of Luke, "Pater, eis sou
cheir papatithemi mou pneuma." The final acceptance of the Lord Christ:
Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.

*****

Marcus

*****

Six years I served Harcos, ending some seven years ago. Let me tell you of
it. I was young when I joined him, and it took me oh so long to understand
this massive bear of a barbarian. I had not, and truth-told still have not,
seen a man as ruthlessly-efficient or effective in battle. I have often
wondered if, when the gods come visiting, their vessels know. For I could
see Mars in this mountain of a man.

Actually, no, let me start at the ending. We were afield in Galatia (soon
after to become Lycaonia) facing yet another Gallic insurrection. A small,
elite force of the vermin had, during the height of battle, cut the hobbles
and spooked the mules, driving them and every cart, chariot and curricle
into the field where we awaited our masters. This was to have been a simple
exercise, a show of force, and it actually did crush the rebellion in mere
days. The Gallic raid, though, also crushed my ankle. Harcos returned and
flew into a rage like I had never seen. He installed me with a friendly
healer from the cohort and gathered the As he led.

Harcos was Optio of the first Century of the Second Cohot, thus also the
leader of the first As. He was perhaps seventh in the overall chain of
command depending on which nobles joined a given campaign. The As was
Txakur, his closest friend; Fede, his second in command and fourth in
command of the Century; Lanza, the incredibly-young man later famed for his
prowess with the javelin in the Games of Diocletian; Delfus, who got his
name because he prophesied defeat and disgrace at every turn and thus was
invaluable in making contingency plans; Chevron, named for the
double-bladed, angled sword he carried beneath his tunica; Paidi, named
long, long before when he really was just a moppet; and Chabuk, one of the
faster men I'd ever seen move.

Harcos dispatched Fede to the Centurion to explain that -- not ask whether
-- he and the rest of the As would move to destroy the small raiding
band. They were back just after nightfall. Harcos never spoke to me, but I
saw the volume of blood on his and the other men's gear. It was certain
that none lived of those who caused my injury, and their deaths had not
been those of warriors, but of rats. Harcos lost his command that day for
his actions and he never cared. My fever came the next day, and broke just
as the rebellion was destroyed, the day upon which its leaders
crucified. My wound still seeped, but it was clear now that, with the help
of the gods, I would heal.

We all knew that my time with the Legion, Cohort, Century and As was at an
end, and a number of friends came to say goodbye. When the camp readied to
move, Harcos took me to a nearby village where we found a massive hive of
Christians, the latest infestation of this part of the Empire. Truth told,
there were far more that paid cult to this upstart man-god in all of
Anatolia than did so to the official patron, Sol Invictus, or any of the
other gods of Rome. I was in no mood for it, but the place really was
delightful.

There were four that might serve, two of the them boys. The elder was
likely to be married within the year and was frankly gorgeous. I had once
seen a sculpture, and ancient thing from the time of the legends when
Alexander rode these spaces, showing a defeated Galacian, side pierced,
with a perfect body, heavy manhood and dense hair above the lip without a
beard. This young man could have been that statue brought to life. His name
was Petarcus and I could feel Harcos take an interest.

One of the girls they offered, Miriamal, was about as beautiful a woman as
I'd seen in many months; luckily for me, my master's tastes did not run
along those lines. Another girl was presented and dismissed out of hand;
too young and thin to take on the burden even if Harcos liked a woman's
touch. Finally, almost reluctantly, they offered a slightly-younger
son. Perhaps sixteen summers, he had most of his growth and his voice had
dropped, but none of that mattered.

I was seated in front of Harcos, his thigh forming a shelf upon which my
mangled leg could rest. When this little piss-ant was brought forward, I
was damned near dumped out of my master's lap so forcefully did his manhood
spring to attention. The boy had none of the grandeur of Petarcus, but
glowed with a radiance that could not be explained. And he was a healer to
boot, and quite unassuming in many ways. You could tell from his look that
he had a quick mind and a willingness to serve, and that he was in absolute
awe of my barbarian master. I hated him instantly. Loathed might be a
better word. Detested, perhaps? Anyway...

From that moment, Harcos looked at either the parents or that horrid little
slip of a man-child. No other human got his attention, unless he looked to
me for translations or advice. As we negotiated for a place to spend the
night, the little serpent disappeared; I fervently hoped he'd accidentally
slithered over on a scorpion and died quietly someplace out of the way.

No such luck. We were shown to the door of the lead-husband's bedchamber
and Harcos carried me through. There waiting was that little fucker. He was
naked, hard, greased and smelled of an upscale whorehouse. He was
circumcised like all Jews and most of that breed who'd adopted the new
cult. Not huge, but not bad. Nicely shaped even considering the religious
mutilation. Small, compact balls and apparently the family took care to
groom the hair in that part; uncommon outside noble families in those days
and certainly rare in the backwaters of the Empire.

The vile little heathen rushed forward and took me from Harcos, nearly
collapsing under my weight. Sadly, I was unable to crush the impudent bug
before he had me in a bower. He spun and began, amusingly, to try and
figure out the uniform's ties. I was quite vexed that he had so little
trouble.

When he reached the loincloth covering the most important part of Harcos,
he paused and looked up, then undid the tie with trembling hands. He gasped
like a virgin and I smiled. NOW we'd see the little prick's comeuppance! I
couldn't wait to see him either flee the room and shrink back in horror at
the thought of taking that monster. I'd spend over a month training myself
to accept it!

Instead, in execrable not-quite-Latin, the little nightmare asked to touch
Harcos. I choked on a laugh as Harcos turned to me in utter confusion. "I
think he's asking permission to touch 'your most sacred parts',
Harcos. He's asking if he's *allowed* to touch your cock!" Harcos and I
shared a bawdy laugh and my master looked down and winked.

My jaw dropped almost as quick as that little serpent's. And I say serpent
for a reason; snakes are the only things I'd even known who could unhinge
their jaws. That apparently-small mouth dove over my master's mammoth
cockhead and I could tell from the groan of pleasure that his tongue was
attacking the tenderest places beneath Harcos' foreskin. The whelp moaned
in delight at what he found there and I felt my own mouth water. Harcos
after a day on the road would have little bombs of flavour under there that
I longed to taste again.

It was, perhaps, my last really coherent thought that night. I was furious,
in pain, unhappy and uncomfortable. I was also horny as hell. Over the
hours of night, that little fucker took me on a sexual adventure the likes
of which I'd rarely known, and completely blew my master's mind. Not only
did he *take* Harcos, he rode the barbarian like a pony! At one point when
I was completely insensate from an explosive orgasm, he redressed my ankle
and I nearly fainted, first from the sharp pain and then from its
inexplicable absence. Fuck if I know what he did, but it was as if my ankle
wasn't even there any more, taking the pain with it.

And that kid could FUCK. He did things with cock, throat and ass that I'd
heard of in raucous warrior boasts of conquests past, but to have it done
-- over and over! -- to myself and Harcos was revelatory. And the little
shit never let up! It was like he had some inexhaustible supply of
fuck-itude upon which he could draw.

When I came back to consciousness, he was drinking my piss and sucking yet
another load out of my painfully-dry balls. He did the same to Harcos. I
had always known that his dick in my mouth was his favourite way to greet
the day, and this little monster was a fucking natural. I heard a tooth
crack as I clenched my jaws so tight in rage and a desire to throttle the
prick.

He moved to redress my wound and both Harcos and I gasped in shock. Nothing
seeped, no trace of blood or serum, and the swelling was as if it had
healed for a week. There was no pain. I could not put weight upon it, but
it was inexplicably on its way back to health. I shared a resigned look
with Harcos and muttered. "You have always been right, you wonderful
bastard. He's perfect."

Harcos toyed with the family some, far less than I thought fair. And he
paid them more than I would have for the whelp. Okay, admittedly what I'd
have paid for that fucking little monster was found in the night-soil
bucket, but still...

I spent that day and the morning of the next teaching the pricklet all I
could of what he needed to know. In turn, he whispered all of the secrets
of the family that would make it easy for me to join them as an equal. He
also arranged for me to have a 'more comfortable' bower that night away
from Harcos. I raged at my master with considerable invective as he just
smiled at me as if I were speaking some Eastern tongue. My protests died
rapidly when Miriamal appeared to tend and dress my wound... as well as
everything else I had. If nothing else, this family knew how to teach the
subtlest arts of lovemaking.

I cried that next day, unashamedly, as Harcos left forever. He'd vested me
with what, had the family known of it, would have changed the way they
treated me. In their corner of the Empire, it was a princely fortune. I hid
it and forced them to see me as any other suitor. They quickly found me
pleasant and useful, if prone to crying jags in the early months.

I married Bet formally to join the family, not Miriamal, as thus became wed
to the other wives as well. Miriam was an able and ruthless organiser, but
also a genuine and kind soul with a magic touch with the herbs. Ruth was
shrewd and careful, and unofficially cared for all the moneys and
properties unless negotiation was required. She was too much the shrew to
get the best bargains.

Bethel was, on her best days, slightly smarter than the chickens, but she
was a demoness in bed and thus perpetually pregnant. Edissa was the other
healer-wife with Miriam and her magic seemed to be with the treatment of
inner diseases, including demonic possession; she also crafted the powers
and potions required by my lead husband when he battled such fiends. Cara
and Laura were twins and the youngest of the wives save for my first-bride,
Bet. They were masters of the loom.

My co-husbands were Senior Father (his given name of Paulus) Praveden and
Petar. Of the three, Senior Father was devout, devoted and loving. Petar
knew everything about everyone, instantly, as if it were written upon their
foreheads. He was always kind -- in the end; he had the sharpest tongue I'd
seen outside of army Prefects. Praveden was the workhorse of the family,
willing to take any task and lift any burden, as well as fuck anyone who'd
hold still long enough. He was the only one who did not consummate the
marriage with Bet since she was his beget upon Edissa, his own first-bride.

I was shocked to silence when I found out just how well (and how) they
trained their family for the sacrament of sex. I thought I got laid in the
Legion?!? I quickly took to eating celery, nuts, rye and ginger at every
turn just to keep my nuts from shrivelling up! One, a boy named Ionus, took
to me early and made me his primary (male) instructor. I never imagined
that one person could have so much insatiable need! And certainly not that
such a one would think that I alone could fulfil it!

He is one of the ones who has started his own line now. My monies secretly
gave him the means to become a profitable abattre and butcher. He does, of
course, take our family's livestock at a discount. He'd better, since he
has me come over and fuck him senseless about once a month. His wives,
Beryl and Pearl, love the noises he makes on such occasion and, apparently,
he is in rut for days afterwards. He currently has nineteen summers, three
wives, five children and is courting an additional co-husband with his own
two wives. A perfect Christian and no mistake!

After Ionus settled (a bit), Iacob came into his seed. He is in his
sixteenth summer now. For two solid years he made it clear he had no
interest in girls, and that he had complete interest in, well, me. I
thought that Ionus was tough; Iacob made me and most of those I knew in the
Legion -- including the legendary Bu -- look like dabblers in the art of
love. I finally had to turn him loose not only on his brother Ionus, but
two similarly-aged young men *each* from the other Christian families! He
is a marvel and my greatest pride. I am considering sending a message to
Harcos (or those he trained if the great barbarian has fallen); Iacob would
make a wonderful servant.

My test as junior husband came more quickly than I would have hoped. A band
of former Legionnaires who'd turned to brigandry crept into the valley a
mere two months after I arrived. They first raided a small family, taking
two young daughters and all livestock; the girls were found brutally raped
and left for dead, barely alive, three mornings later. Even with Miriam and
Edissa's expertise, they died within hours.

My ankle was healed enough, though not really well. We enlisted the help of
two other overtly-Christian families and I organised us into a small force,
a heavy As. We fell upon them in the early hours, eleven strong to their
eight. When they laid dead, we found that we had lost three, including the
gorgeous Petarcus who'd been struck through the spine with a pilum. The
other two were a junior husband and a son from one of the other families.

We buried them as Christians (a faith I'd adopted) and fed the corpses of
the evildoers to the hogs. Petarcus had been betrothed to a daughter from
the third family and another of a crypto-Christian family, intend on
starting his own line. In honour of that agreement, we absorbed the
wife-to-be of the third family, Rachel, as our own; the family that lost
the son and father married Evelyn into their line.

That was seven years ago now. Petar is Senior Father now and two or 'our'
sons have established strong families in the valley. Six of our daughters
are now wed, three to existing lines and three to new ones, including one,
strange marriage where they insist they will have only each other. A single
wife and a single husband? How will they survive? How could anyone expect
such a pattern to thrive or survive?

Otherwise, I think of Harcos often, and each year take a day to mourn when
I was injured, losing him, followed by a day of celebration marking when I
joined my true family. It is a blessed life, and Harcos was the blessing.

*****

Strasta

*****

Seven years I served Harcos. He told me often of the adventures and
misadventures of Marcus. It made him very happy when I explained how my own
family worked, how they viewed sex and play, how they considered it
delightful to both God and man. He laughed so long and so hard when I'd
tell him of my own entry into full communion when I came into my seed, and
how hard I worked Petar above all. And of Ionus, balls just dropped as I
joined Harcos to be followed quickly by Iacob who I was certain would have
little interest in girls. He was delighted at the thought of Marcus driven
to distraction (and dry nuts) by my brothers as they came into their
seed. He exact words were, "Serves the randy bugger right!"

Ah, if only it worked like that in my new family.  It was as if the One
True God set a maze for me, one that every logical, simple, scriptural
answer was twisted to something unrecognisable. With the Demon gone from
Mother and Mother dead as well, Father became a shell. He accepted food for
three days, then ceased to do even that and died. We buried him as a
Christian next to the husk that (I silently hoped) had been a true
Christian before she was possessed.

As the hired Heathens built our new home, we dug a trench around the old
one and filled it with heavily-salted water, trapping any other demons
within. The new house was so simple that it was ready in eight days. Ismet
and Inkar, under my protection from devils, stripped the old hovel of
everything of value and use. As we set about creating our new home, we
waited for a windless day and, with ceremony, burned the demon-infested
one.

The act of setting it alight, with each member of the family throwing brand
after brand into the doors or thatch, was a second exorcism. Inkar went
from a trembling convert to a sure and strong man of God. He took new
names: From Inkar (Denial) he became Qebul (Acceptance); within the
Brotherhood of Christ, he is now Tomah, the one whose doubt proved the
truth of the Risen Christ.

Ismet blossomed like a primrose, going from bud to bloom seemingly in the
blink of an eye even as the fires caught. She who had been Chastity became
Fereh (Rejoicing, Rapture, Joy) and took the Christian name of Miriam, as
my own senior mother. She was already flirting with an absolutely delicious
young builder before the ashes settled. They moved into the Room of Waiting
since none of the wives (obviously) was with child.

Fereh and Amit -- together and allowing no other assistance -- built their
own home on our model at the far edge of our property. The boy has no ass
to speak of but a mouth that will make any co-husband and every wife
happier than a human has a right to be. They do not yet know that I have
purchased the lands to our East, adjacent to their new home, as a dowry.

Gunah is of the age of his own flowering and has come to me for instruction
even without me asking. Even before his growth begins or his seed arrives,
I know that he will be a randy little bugger. He has shed the name meaning
Sin and taken, instead, Qocaliq, meaning manhood or virility, and proudly
looks forward to fulfilling that name in no uncertain terms. He is Petra
among the faithful, the rock upon which we will build our family.

My new wives, Pakliq and Safliq, are perhaps the most changed, though. They
had been silent and staring creatures; now they laugh constantly and with a
will, and do all but rape me of an evening. I've warned Fereh to expect to
move soon, at least if Pakliq (Innocence! HA!) has anything to say about
it. And the newly-minted Qebul already has his eye on the daughter of the
local welldigger, and I have to admit she has a truly impressive ass and is
rumoured to be an excellent cook. I have taken to teaching Etiqad the
healing herbs, and the randy little Qocaliq seems to also have an affinity.

I have been too busy (and it is still too soon) for me to truly mourn the
loss of Harcos. Another part is that I dream frequently of the little prick
that took my place. I hope and pray that they are true visions from the One
True God and not simply wishful thinking. He is very good for Harcos, in
some ways (I refuse to admit it anywhere but here) better than I
was. Harcos was in a rut (as well as being in rut) with me, always pleased
but rarely surprised or delighted. If the dreams are true, he is constantly
one or the other (or both) with the one that had been called Shame.

*****

Kucuk (?)

*****

The sound was one of pain and uncertainty and fear and anger, a primordial
sound. I could hear the air split along the blade, bits of dust, perhaps,
cloven in twain by the sharp edge's forceful passage. I wondered what it
would feel like, to die? Harcos would make the cut swift and painless, but
what of the saints who carry their heads as they preach the Gospel? How
long, I wonder, will I lay here thinking before God takes me into His arms?

What I did not expect was the sound. I guess it makes sense. Bones must
make some noise as they are rent, but I never expected the crack of brittle
clay and splintering of reeds. Nor did I anticipate the brush of a leg as
Harcos steps over my dead body, through the door and away. I mean, I
expected SOME sort of pain, SOME sensation as the blade struck, but I lay
there, wondering where my head ended up after the blow but all that
happened was, well, nothing. I was beginning to panic -- what if the One
True God had abandoned me? What if I was cursed to lay here forever,
another ghost to annoy passers-by?

I certainly did not expect the first words of the Angels of the Lord to be,
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Kucuk. What did you do now?" That St Peter (or maybe
Gabriel) sounded so much like my friend Volot, the Ox, was another source
of confusion. "Well, don't just lay there like a back of clothes. Tell me
what the fuck you did to Harcos." I felt him drag me upwards and was rather
shocked and disappointed to find all my parts, including head, attached as
normal.

"Whu?"

"Harcos is over there right now crying -- I mean like CRYING -- all over
Pam and the whole damned hovel. Pam kicked me to come find out what the
hell you did. He thought maybe you'd got yourself killed or something. What
the hell is going on?" I began to weep then, and then to babble, Volot
holding me and rocking me and trying to comfort me in a way that I could at
least start to make some sort of sense.  I guess I did eventually as he got
sombre and petted me more seriously, eventually coaxing me to a fitful,
restless, Harcos-less sleep.

<eof>

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